


If Only You Would Listen

by icantwrite1832



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Courfeyrac Ships Enjolras/Grantaire, M/M, Minor Combeferre/Courfeyrac, R's just really sad, Slow Burn, Sort Of, TW: Mentions of Child Abuse, Teacher-Student Relationship, They're both over the age of consent, Underage but not really, but secretly, drug abuse but not really, oh well, very cliche
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25512328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwrite1832/pseuds/icantwrite1832
Summary: Grantaire misbehaves in school, he's known as the naughty kid who does no work, except in art. That is, until he meets his new English teacher and everything changes
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Grantaire/Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Grantaire ever saw Enjolras was on the first day of y11.

His old english teacher had left after an incident involving Montparnasse and Grantaire stealing his credit card, and trying to use it to buy dildos in the school library. Technically, Grantaire should have been expelled, but Montparnasse had taken all of the blame, and Grantaire was let off with a week in isolation, and an hour detention. He was also to report to his head of year at the beginning of every day to get his report signed, then take the orange ‘report card’ around to every teacher’s room at the beginning of every lesson,and get it signed by them. After school, his parents were supposed to sign it, but fuck that. He was already in enough trouble with them, and giving them that piece of paper was like asking Grantaire to choose between life or death. So, instead, he forces Cosette to sign it, knowing that out of all of his friends, she’s the one with the neatest handwriting that looks the most parental. Probably something to do with the way she seemed to have adopted the mom-friend role of the group so easily. 

Today was the start of y11, he was ready to start a new chapter, focus on GCSEs, make sure that he could leave his house whenever he could. Realistically, he knew he would leave school with C’s (4s if you’re using the new GCSE way) but Grantaire was trying so hard not to focus on that fact because it would ‘just make you unmotivated, R’. 

By breaktime, Grantaire was back to his old tricks. He’d been kicked out of maths for ‘disrupting other students’ and causing another student to cry, which wasn’t his fault at all. If she hadn’t have started talking about his parents, or his homelife, or why he had the same school uniform and bag as last year, then Grantaire wouldn’t have had to tell her that none of her friends actually liked her, and she was just a burden to them, and that by the end of the week, they’ll have ditched her. Not that the teacher would listen to his side of the story- they never did. Luckily, none of his friends were in his maths class, so he wouldn’t have to listen to them reprimanding him as well. 

Then, in history, he was given a half an hour detention for making inappropriate comments about historical figures. All he said was that, if he had the choice to shag one of the Greek Gods, Apollo would be his first choice. Well, he did say it quite loud, and he did reiterate the fact quite a few times.

“The thing is, Mr. Lancaster, you keep calling Apollo a historical figure, when he’s not. I’m pretty sure he’s alive and kicking on Mount Olympus as we speak. Well, as I speak.” 

“R,” He hears Eponine say softly, placing a hand on his arm, “No one gives a fuck. So shut up.”

“Congratulations, Eponine.” Mr Lancaster says, not looking up from the computer, “It looks like you’ll be joining Grantaire in detention tonight.” 

“Fuck you, R.” She mutters under her breath. Grantaire looks away to try and ignore her glare. 

At lunch, Grantaire had already had enough. In art, someone pushed him a little too hard, causing him to spill paint water over his artwork, which he’d spent all summer finishing up and adding to. If Mr Courfeyrac wasn’t watching Grantaire closely (word must have gotten around about the maths incident), the other student would have ended up with a black eye, for sure. So, Grantaire was in a shitty mood because he’d spent so long on that piece, hiding it away from anyone in his house to make sure they couldn’t touch it, working on it in the middle of the night, and now that careless fuck has ruined it all. He was so close to tears, but Jehan had managed to cheer him up ever so slightly. They always did. At the end of the lesson, when Grantaire had to collect his report card from the teacher, he told Jehan to go without him, as Mr Courfeyrac had that look in his eye, which meant that he wanted to talk to Grantaire. 

“I was good today, sir, you’ve got to give me that.”

“I never said you weren’t, Grantaire.” His teacher smiles the same smile he offers the good students. Maybe that’s why Mr Courfeyrac was R’s favourite teacher; he never gave up trying to get Grantaire to be good. “How was maths?”

“It was her fault.” Grantaire defends himself immediately. “She just constantly takes the piss out of me. It was karma really. It’s not my fault that she cries at almost everything.”

Mr Courfeyrac merely rolls his eyes, and hands the report card back to Grantaire. “Listen, R, be careful with your new english teacher.” He says, and Grantaire frowns. 

“I was with the other one, it was Montparnasse’s fault. You know it was, he even admitted to it.”

“Yes, I know, now shush.”

“Rude.”

“Listen, Grantaire. All I’m saying is, if you think your maths teacher is strict, then your English teacher will be like a dictator to you. And don’t even think about trying to skip it, I’m good friends with him, so he’ll tell me if you have, and you’ll be in for it in drama tomorrow.” Mr Courfeyrac jokes, and Grantaire rolls his eyes, smiling slightly.

“Wouldn’t dream of missing english with a supposed fascist by the way you’re describing him.” Grantaire shrugs and starts walking out of the classroom, ignoring Mr Courfeyrac throwing a ball of paper at him, purposefully missing. 

“Don’t forget your drama coursework is in for next week, I’m always here if you need help.”

Fuck. Grantaire had forgotten about that. “I won’t, sir. Thanks.”

He’d managed to steal Cosette’s salt and vinegar crisps, after working out that he didn’t have enough money to get anything from the canteen. Plus, he hadn’t brought anything with him from home. Cosette must have realised that this would’ve happened because, although she had given her salt and vinegar crisps to Grantaire, she was sharing another packet with Eponine. 

Grantaire had tried to leave the table, as soon as his maths teacher came over to the group to start doting on Joly, who was in her class last year. He was always the star student. However, as soon as he had stood up, Feuilly and Bahorel had pulled him back down. Never sit in between them two, Grantaire concluded, or else they’ll bully you relentlessly. He avoided the teachers stare for the most part, finishing his crisps in awkward silence, as everyone else talked over him. He was fine with being ignored; he couldn’t relate to most of the topics the group talked about. 

Soon enough, the bell rang for english and, as much as Grantaire loved Mr Courfeyrac, he was still planning to skip it. He was never any good at it anyway, he was just wasting the teachers time. That was, until Cosette looped her arm in his, 

“Let me walk you to your class.” She smiles, and there was no denying Cosette anything. 

As they get outside of the english door, Grantaire stops outside. “Wish me luck.” He says, gripping the door handle. As soon as he did, the door opened anyway, as the teacher opened the door. 

“I’m magic.” He whispers, looking at Cosette, “Why are you laughing at me?” 

She points up at the teacher. 

“Unfortunately, you’re not magic.” He says, and Grantaire looks up. Turns out he was wrong about Apollo being alive and kicking up on Mount Olympus, he down here, walking amongst mortals. 

“Are you just going to stand there?” He asks, raising an eyebrow expectantly. 

“Uh yes. I mean, no.” Grantaire rubs his forehead, walking into the classroom, and looks up at the whiteboard, finding a seating plan. 

“Sir, I’m not sitting next to her.” He says, looking back at the teacher, “I’ll make her cry again.” Well, there’s nothing like being honest, especially with someone who Mr Courfeyrac had described as being like a dictator. 

“If you have a problem with it, Grantaire, you can talk to me after class.”

“How do you know my name? And I can’t talk to you after class, I have detention.”

“Are you really asking that?” Apollo asks, earning a few laughs from the few other students who were already in the class. “And, lucky for you, I’m here until five, so you’ll have plenty of time after detention.”

Grantaire groans, and goes to sit down next to the bitch, He slumps down on the desk, resting his head on his hand, not bothering to get his pen out of his bag. As the rest of the students join the class, Apollo closes the door, before looking at Grantaire. 

“Sit up.” 

“Or what?” Grantaire says, though sits up anyway, not taking his eyes off of Apollo. Luckily for him, Apollo didn’t bother to entertain him. 

“Good afternoon,” Apollo starts, and Grantaire is pretty sure that this class is already going to suck. From having a really hot teacher, to being sat next to the bitch, to hating English already, Grantaire is already dreaming about how he’s going to avoid his parents tonight. “My name is Mr Laurent. My first name is Enjolras. Not that any of you will be using my first name.” At least, Grantaire can stop calling him Apollo- he’d pissed off the sun God enough times today already. 

As the lesson drags on, Grantaire starts to daydream, thinking about the idea of Enjolras and him kissing. Like the slow, romantic stuff you see on Call Me By Your Name, and who would initiate it and

BANG. 

Grantaire snaps out of his daydream, as a book is slammed down in front of him. His eyes look up to meet the piercing gaze from Enjolras. 

“I suggest you listen in future, Grantaire.” He says, opening Grantaire’s book on the right page for him. “Now, Grantaire, how are your reading skills.” 

“Below average.” The girl next to him chimes in. 

“Want me to make you cry again?” 

“That’s enough, Grantaire.” Enjolras says, though, he is looking at the girl. 

“If I wanted your input, I would have asked you.” He says, “What’s your name?” 

“Isabelle.”

“Well, Isabelle, speak again, and you’ll have earned yourself a detention.” Grantaire smirks at Isabelle as she scowls. “Now, Grantaire, please read up to page 20.” 

“From page 15, yeah?” 

“Yes.” 

Grantaire starts, managing to somehow get through the pages with only a slight stammer on some of the words, and him settling lost on the page. 

“Very good.” He says, “So, now, explain what’s happening.” Oh, Enjolras was sat on the empty table at the front of the classroom. 

“Uh, ah, why are you picking on me, sir? Ask, like, Sam, he’s the smart one of the class.”

“Because I’m asking you.” Enjolras says, “Question me again, and I’ll give you a lunchtime detention with me.”

As tempting as it was to try and get a detention, R was determined to set a good impression. “Scrooge is in his counting house, he’s being a bitch to Bob Cratchitt, and then he leaves. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Was the language necessary?”

“It gets the point across.” 

Enjolras leaves him alone for the rest of the lesson and, soon enough, the bell rings and Grantaire stands up, grabbing his bag and going to the door, as were the rest of the class. However, Enjolras strides over, and slams the door shut. “I dismiss you.” He says and looks Grantaire directly in the eye, as he says, “Everyone except Grantaire can go.” 

Grantaire’s face falls, and steps to the side, as people jab him in the side, laughing at him. 

“Sir, if I’m late to detention because of you, I will never turn up to you classes ever again.”

Enjolras chuckles slightly at that, “Grantaire, the detentions are in my room tonight.”

“Oh.” Grantaire says, and goes back to sit where he was sat for the lesson, only to be yanked back by his backpack. 

“You’re sitting at the front, Grantaire.”

“There is no way you’ve made a seating plan for detentions.” Grantaire says, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“No. But you’re still sitting at the front.”

Grantaire didn’t complain.


	2. Chapter 2

The next week, Grantaire was already late to school. He didn’t hear his alarm go off, so he’d overslept for 10 minutes. His uniform was still drying over the shitty radiator in his room, so he had to brush his teeth and wash his face over before he got the uniform on, which was never a good idea, when there wasn’t a lock on his bathroom door. It was now 7:30, and the bus would be there in 15 minutes. He quickly pulls on his uniform, sniffing his arm to make sure it didn’t smell too much like it hadn’t been dried properly. 

He runs down the stairs, finding that his parents have already left. That was good at least. He grabs his books, and the pile of homework he didn’t do, and a pen from the side of the counter, and runs out the door, locking it behind him. He’ll buy his breakfast at the shops opposite school, he tells himself, though knows that that wouldn’t happen. 

It was now 7:40, and Grantaire could see the bus at the bus stop. Why the fuck was it early? It was never early- this was England. The bus was always 10 minutes late. Grantaire pulled out his phone to check the time, though gets distracted when he sees his phone on 10%. The electricity must have gone out in the middle of the night. He’ll sort that out when he gets home, or he could just ring his parents now. He knew it was a bad idea, but he really couldn’t be bothered to sort it out. He opens his texts and sends his dad a message. 

‘Electricities out. I don’t have any time to pay for it after school- I’ve got boosters- can you please pay for it, please?’ 

After that, he turns his phone off, deciding not to wait for the answer; it was probably going to be a ‘no.’ anyway. 7:45. If he ran, he might make it to school before the start of English. 

It was safe to say, he greatly overestimated how fast he could run. It was 8:15 by the time he finally ended up at the school gates. Well, great, Enjolras is going to be so mad. 

He gives his name to the attendance lady, and some bullshit excuse about how his car broke down, which was made even shitter because the attendance lady knew he took the bus. She tuts at him, but lets him go. 

“Grantaire, at least tuck your shirt in.” She says. Grantaire groans, though he does what he’s told. Seriously, all he wanted to do was get to English already so he can get the lecture he’s going to get off of Enjolras out of the way.

As he walks down the corridor, he checks his back pocket for the pen he put in. Instead, he finds an empty pocket. 

“Oh, fuck.” He mutters, before stopping outside of his English class. For a moment, he considers skipping, but before he can walk away, Enjolras is opening the door. 

“Nice of you to finally join us, Grantaire.” He says, and Grantaire walks in, sitting down at his new desk at the front of the class. (He’d spoken to Enjolras during the detention, but it turned out to be a bad idea. Enjolras had moved him to the front, just to teach Grantaire a lesson or something like that. All Grantaire could think of was that Enjolras was actually a really hot dick). He puts his bag down on the chair next to him and starts digging around for a non-existent pen at the bottom of the bag. Eventually, he gives up and leans on the desk, watching Enjolras, as he tries to explain what the motif of hands symbolises in A Christmas Carol. 

“And now, I’m going to collect your homework, while you annotate this extract. Anyone who hasn’t done it- their parents will be receiving a phone call from me, asking why they haven’t done it and a detention as well.”

Grantaire’s eyes widen, and he looks at Enjolras, trying to silently tell him to not call his parents. For most teachers, that was an empty threat, but with Enjolras, he was serious. He’d rang Grantaire’s parents on the previous Friday, after he’d threatened to punch another student for saying that no one liked him. His weekend was ruined after that. The only thing that made today slightly better was seeing Enjolras again. 

“Is there a problem, Grantaire?” Enjolras asks, catching Grantaire’s eye again. 

“Uh, no. I mean, yes, no. I don’t know.” He says, rubbing his wrists slightly. 

“Make your mind up.”

“Yes. I didn’t do my homework, and I also don’t have a pen.” He says, “And I know that means I have an hour’s detention added onto the catchup work that I have to do at break because I was late but I don’t care so save me the speeches.”

He watches as Enjolras’ eyes turn stormy. “If you know what I’m going to say, then what am I going to ask you to do now?”

“Go outside and stay outside until I’ve learnt some respect.” Grantaire says and stands up, walking to the corridor. He regrets not taking his bag, so he could run off. He stands opposite the classroom, watching Enjolras walk around the classroom, taking everybody else’s homework in.

He watches as Enjolras puts the homework on his desk, and then his famous red pen on top of the pile, before walking to the door, and opening it up. He steps outside of the classroom, leaving the door ajar. 

“Stop leaning on the wall.” Grantaire stands up immediately. He was almost as tall as Enjolras now, meaning he’d end up taller eventually. “Want to explain why you were late?”

“I missed the bus.” He murmurs, starting to bite at his nail. “I had to run to school.”

“And why did you miss the bus?” 

“Why do you want to know?” He asks, crossing his arms, “I slept through my alarm.”

“Make your alarm louder then.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes, and shakes his head. “You’re a genius, sir, I didn’t think of that.”

“Lose the attitude, Grantaire, it’s been a week since the start of school and you’ve already gotten detention three times. Do you want to add to that?”

“Does it really matter?” He asks, “It’s not like I’m going to get into sixth form or college anyway.”

Enjolras mouth opens, but closes afterwards, frowning at Grantaire. Grantaire feels his heart flutter, but he looks away after a second, realising it looked like he was staring. 

“Are you going to kick me out, sir? Or am I allowed back in?”

“There’s only five minutes left, you may as well come back in, but if I hear another sound out of you, you’ll be spending tomorrow in isolation. Also, I need your report.”

Tomorrow, he had double English. He decides to stay silent for the rest of the class. He huffs, and walks into the classroom, retrieving his report from his bag. As he hands it to Enjolras, their hands touch for just a second and Grantaire can feel his heart almost leap out of his chest.

As the bell goes, Grantaire packs up his things, and starts to leave, letting everyone out before him. Enjolras stops him as soon as his hand touches the door,

“If this isn’t back in my hands the next time you see me, I’ll set you extra work.”

It was a pen. Not just any pen, but the fanciest one Enjolras owned (barr his red pen, of course). Grantaire wasn’t even sure that he was allowed to touch it. The metal frame seemed too precious to be scuffed by Grantaire’s fingers. Enjolras also hands Grantaire a post-it note, before letting him go. He walks out of the classroom, immediately being bombarded by Year 7s walking into Enjolras’ classroom. 

Grantaire keeps his hand on the pen all the time in the corridor. As he walks to the class, he spots Bahorel walking to the same class he was. Good. At least he wasn’t alone anymore, and had someone to mess around with. As soon as Bahorel was in arms distance, he shoves a gang of y8’s out of the way, and shoves Bahorel slightly, walking next to him. 

“Asshat.” Bahorel says, punching his arm playfully, grinning at Grantaire.

“Nice to see you too.” He laughs and hums, looking at how far away they were from the science corridor, “Fancy skipping?”

“Not really. I’m trying to get my grades up.” 

“You’re boring.”

“Better than not being able to get into college.” Bahorel mumbles, jabbing Grantaire in the waist. 

“Ow. Okay, okay.” Grantaire huffs, and walks with him to the science classroom. He hums and looks at the teacher. 

“He’s not Dr Venning.” He says to Bahorel.

“Yeah, and that’s probably a good thing. You spent more time outside the classroom, than inside when he taught us last year.”

Grantaire snorts. Last year, his old Science teacher had sat him next to Montparnasse, which was always a bad idea. They spent the time flicking the plug switches on and off, and messing up experiments. It was a fun time, until Montparnasse was expelled for the whole dildo incident. 

As soon as he reaches the door, he’s handed a new workbook from the teacher and is told to sit at the front. He’s probably heard about Grantaire’s reputation. 

From his seat, Grantaire looks at the teacher. He must have been in his mid-30s, and his hair was sort of an ugly, mousey-brown colour but otherwise he was good looking. He had those sort of librarian glasses perched on his nose, and he seemed to give off a nice, sort-of calming attitude. He had a small smile on his face as he handed the new students a book. Grantaire thought that he would make a good match with Mr Courfeyrac- they both gave off the similar vibes. 

Seeing as he had, like, five minutes to kill, he opens the note from Enjolras. God, even his handwriting was attractive-it was that sort of cursive where you could barely read it. It was different to the one he used on the whiteboard. 

‘Come to my classroom at the end of the day, you’ll be having a private detention with me. And bring your drama coursework’.

“I am not doing that coursework in his room.” He murmurs to himself and crumples the note up, throwing it into the bin next to the door. 

“That was a brilliant example of aerodynamics. What’s your name?” The teacher says, looking at him. 

“Grantaire, sir. What’s yours?” He looks up at the teacher, smirking slightly. 

“Mr Combeferre. Now, Grantaire, as much as we all loved your aerodynamic presentation, that’s not what we’re doing today, so please refrain from doing that again.”

“Of course, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Halfway through the lesson, Grantaire was still staring at the pen. The metal seemed to be engraved on one side, but Grantaire couldn’t make out what it said. The nib was ballpoint, but very thin, which made Grantaire’s hand look even messier than usual. But beggars can’t be choosers.

“Grantaire, why do you have Mr Laurent’s pen?” His head snaps up, seeing Mr Combeferre sat in front of him, on that wheely chair that Dr Venning broke. If you put too much weight on it, and rolled on it, it would make a horrendous, grating noise.

“He gave it to me- how do you know Enj- Mr Laurent?”

“He’s my friend.” Mr Combeferre shrugs.

“Oh, I suppose you also know Mr Courfeyrac then as well.” 

The science teacher chuckled slightly, “He’s my fiance.”

“Oh!” Grantaire says and blinks a few times. “I’m like, Cupid. I guessed that.” He says and grins. “Wait- does that mean that you all have conferences about the students.”

“No, that’s illegal.” Combeferre smiles and looks down at Grantaire’s book. “Do you need some help or are you just making a point to not do the work.”

He needed help. His brain couldn’t make out how to work out the power of something. “I’m making a point not to do the work.” Idiot. 

“Yeah, I’m going to help you out anyway.” Yeah, Mr Combeferre and Mr Courfeyrac were a very good couple.

After the lesson, Grantaire goes to the usual spot where they all met up. The others would be getting food from the social area, so he’d be alone for a couple of minutes. He pulls his phone out and turns it on, bracing himself for whatever his dad was going to say. He looks at the notifications, two missed calls. One from his mum, and one from his dad. 

He opts to phone his mum- she doesn’t shout half as much as his dad. 

It rings twice before she picks up.

“Hello,” He says, leaning against the wall, “Sorry I didn’t answer your call, my phone died, and then I was in science.”

“Your dad’s fuming.” She sighs, “Are you sure there’s no way you can get to the shop after school?”

“I can try.”

“Yeah, please do. Also, don’t start making a noise when you come back.”

“Do I ever?”

“No. I’ve got to go, be careful R.”

“Yeah, see you tonight.” He says, “Love you.” but she had already hung up. 

The rest of the day was uneventful. Just Grantaire being Grantaire and annoying his teachers in whatever way possible. He was full of anticipation for his detention with Enjolras to anything too serious. 

At the end of the day, he goes to the drama room first, not bothering to knock on the door; Mr Courfeyrac was by himself so there was no point. He walks in and goes to the cupboard next to Mr Courfeyrac’s desk.

“Grantaire! You’re going to give me a heart attack.” Courfeyrac walks behind him. 

“Sorry, sir.” He mumbles, not looking up from the drawer. 

“What are you looking for anyway?” 

“My coursework.”

“It’s on my desk, I was marking it.”

“Please, don’t. Not yet.” Grantaire takes it off of the desk. 

“It’s a good job there’s nothing to mark, then. You’ve written one paragraph, R.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs and looks down, “But I did do some illustrations of the costumes.”

“It’s such a shame that you’re not being marked on that, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. You should organise a boycott of the exam board until they make illustrations part of the mark scheme.”

Courfeyrac laughs, and shakes his head. “Go on, Mr Laurent will be expecting you.”

Grantaire smiles and walks out of the room, not asking why he knew about his detention. They probably ate lunch together, like school kids. Speaking of lunch, Grantaire was starving, he hadn’t eaten anything since last night. He refused any food given to him, feeling bad for always stealing it.

He stops outside of the english classroom, taking the pen from his pocket to hand back to Enjolras.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as the door opened, Grantaire stepped in and sat down in his usual seat. He looks at Enjolras, expectantly. 

“Sir, I can’t stay for longer than an hour, I’ve got to get to the shop before it closes.” He says, leaning on the desk slightly. 

“You won’t be longer than an hour. Keep the pen until the end.” He says, sitting down opposite Grantaire. “Where’s your drama work?”

“Here.” Grantaire places his folder on the table and opens it up to the actual coursework section of it. “I haven’t done much.”

“I know, Mr Courfeyrac told me.” Enjolras grabs his red pen from the desk and looks at Grantaire. “You’re going to tell me a fact about the actors' costumes and I’m going to ask you about it.”

“That’s not going to-”

“Ready to start?” Enjolras asks, purposefully cutting through Grantaire’s protests. 

“Do you even know what our piece was on?”

“Yeah, lesbians in the 1800’s, you worked with the girls in your drama group. Mr Courfeyrac told me about all of it.”

“Of course he did. You should’ve told me you knew Mr Combeferre, he started quizzing me on why I had your pen.”

“I didn’t realise you had him, I apologise.” Enjolras says, also leaning his arm on the table, copying Grantaire. “Ready to start?”

“Uh, yeah.” He says, and takes the folder first, getting the photos of the costumes out so he could at least look like he was thinking about what he was saying.

“Talk to me about Emilie’s costume in the first scene.”

“She’s wearing all black. They all were.”

“And why’s that?” Enjolras was so close to him, R could practically feel his breath on his face. 

“Um, neutrality. It was easier to put period costumes over black clothes, instead of having them all strip after they wore a costume.”

“Yeah, and what does it show about their modern day characters.”  
Grantaire’s mind goes blank. He knows that it’s to show that they all have something in common, and that it’s affecting their everyday lives, but he doesn’t know how to say it out loud.

“Come on, Grantaire,” Enjolras says softly, “You do this in English every day.” 

“I don’t. Have you seen my English book?”

“Yes. But I know that you can do it. You do it all of the time in class discussion.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.” 

“No, I can’t.” He says and sits up straight, “I know what I need to say, I just can’t put it into words, let alone write it.” 

“Right, okay.” Enjolras says, though he doesn't move from his position, and if Grantaire wasn’t so frustrated he’d be making a comment about how attractive Enjolras is, just sitting there, eyes constantly on Grantaire. “If me and you were both wearing the school uniform, what would it show?”

An image of Enjolras in uniform flashes through Grantaire’s mind, and he has to shake it out before his brain starts making that a fantasy. “That we both went to the same school.” He says, eventually, eyes still on Enjolras, checking that he was right. 

“Exactly, so we’d have something in common, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“So, if all of the girls were wearing black, what would it show?”

“... That they all had something in common?”

“Exactly. See, it’s not so hard, is it?” 

“Debatable.” 

“Don’t argue with me, just write it down.”

Ah, great, this was the hard part. He takes the lid off of the pen and presses it onto the paper, before taking it back off again. He looks up at Enjolras, who says nothing, just raises an eyebrow and looks down at the paper. Grantaire hesitates, before scribbling what they had just said down. 

“I don’t think that makes sense.” He says,  
“I’ll read it once you’ve written a paragraph.”

“On why they’re wearing black in the first scene? That’s impossible. You can’t say that much about one boring costume.”

“You can.”

“How do you know? You’re not a drama teacher, nor a fashion designer. Look at the way you dress, you wear the same red jacket all the time.”

“You’re lucky I haven’t seen you outside of school, or else I’d be saying the same thing about how you dress.” 

Grantaire scoffs slightly, but doesn’t say anything.

“Go on, then,” Enjolras breaks the silence, “What does black symbolise? When do you wear black? What social group usually wears black?”

“Uh- funerals, and goths. So sadness, and troubles.”

“So, putting that together with the idea that they all share the same colour and give the context of the piece, what can you say about the colour black?”

“They’re all sad because they’re lesbians.”

“Sort of. Not because they’re lesbians, but because of the troubles they face because they’re lesbians.”

“Oh.” Grantaire writes that down, while Enjolras starts talking again. 

“I spoke to your father at lunchtime.” 

Grantaire freezes mid-word, and looks up at Enjolras. “What did you say to him?” He asks and swallows slightly. 

“I told him about this morning.” Grantaire winces slightly, and goes back to writing again, trying to look indifferent to that. “He didn’t know that you were on report.”

R shrugs, not looking up at Enjolras. He looks down at the paper, though doesn’t start writing again. 

“Is there a point to this story, sir?” He asks, only just keeping his voice steady.

“Why doesn’t he know, Grantaire?”

“Because I didn’t tell him.”  
“Who’s signed your report card?”

“I can’t tell you, you’d just get her in trouble, and that’s not fair on her.” 

Enjolras nods, and takes the pen out of Grantaire’s hand, seeing as he hasn’t written anything and the pen would just dry out.

“For the next week, I want you here after school so we can work on your coursework, okay?” 

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He stands up, grabbing his bag. 

“Grantaire, you’ll be okay. He’s not going to hurt you, you know? He’s your father, he cares for you. He’s just annoyed that you didn’t tell him.”

Grantaire lifts his eyes up slightly, meeting Enjolras’, as he says, “You have no idea.”

Before Enjolras can even try and work out what he meant, he’s out of the door and down the corridor, preparing himself for what was waiting for him when he got home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Grantaire's drama coursework my coursework that I should be doing? Yes, yes it is.


	4. Chapter 4

Grantaire almost didn’t go to school. His face felt swollen, and his eye was swollen to the point where it hurt to blink. Most of the pain was in places where he could hide it, though, so he could easily say that he got into a fight with Montparnasse after school, and that would be the end of it. 

The sun was only just rising, when Grantaire got out of bed and ready for school. He didn’t sleep last night, too anxious to think about sleeping for a couple of hours. He pulls on his shirt and replaces his blazer with a hoodie. The blazer was too small and would show the fingerprint shaped bruises on his wrist, which would cause people to worry, and that was the last thing he wanted. He was fine. It was just a bad day, and it was Grantaire’s fault, anyway. 

Silently, he walked down the stairs, not bothering to look in the mirror; he knew his eye looked bad, and he didn’t have to stop for a second to look. He stops at the shoe rack and slips his school shoes on, ignoring all of the scuff marks on them. He would get some shoe polish one day, and sort them out, but for now he’ll just have to deal with them looking battered. He grabs his bag, and looks at his drama coursework in there. Hopefully, by the time he got to school, Mr Courfeyrac was there, and he could give that back to him. He turns around to go into the kitchen, seeing if there was any food that he could sneak out. 

The cupboard was empty. So was the fridge, minus some yoghurt that had probably been there longer than he was alive. Oh well, he can get some food at school. 

“Grantaire?” Oh shit. He freezes and closes the door slowly, turning around. Hopefully, it’d be his mum. 

“Yeah?” He breathes out, as he makes out that it was his mum. 

“You’re up early. School isn’t for another two hours.” She walks over to the fridge, standing opposite him. Neither of them would mention his black eye, or what happened last night. It was an unspoken rule. 

“So are you, you don’t have work today.” 

“No, but I’m going out with some friends at 9.”

“It’s 6 now, mum.” He says, “It’s not going to take you 3 hours to get ready.” 

She smiles slightly, pressing her hand to his cheek. Grantaire leans into it slightly. 

“I said I’d meet Eponine, so we could go for a run.” He lies. He couldn’t stand to be in this house any longer, it just felt so claustrophobic. He just needed to get away for a few hours. 

“I’ve yet to meet this Eponine, I need to make sure she’s suitable enough to date you.” 

Grantaire laughs quietly, “Trust me, mum, we’re not dating.”  
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” His mum says and opens a cupboard, handing him a breakfast bar. “Don’t tell your dad. I’ll go shopping today.” 

Grantaire accepts it gratefully and nods, “Thanks.” He says, deciding to leave it until he was on the bus, and there was no way that anyone could link the missing breakfast bar with him. He makes his way to the door, unlocking it. His keys were in his pocket, he had a pen in his bag, as well as everything else he needed. 

“I love you, Grantaire.” His mum says, not looking up from the kettle that was boiling. 

“Love you too.” Grantaire says back, before shutting the door. 

Grantaire waits at the bus stop for 15 minutes, constantly checking behind him. As soon as Grantaire sits down on the bus, he opens up the breakfast bar and eats it as fast as he could. That was the first thing he’d eaten in a day, and his stomach was very grateful. Grantaire wouldn’t have managed for much longer. 

It was 6:30 by the time the bus pulled up to outside of his school. Grantaire thanks the bus driver, and waits by the school gates, even though they wouldn’t open for another hour yet. He leans against the bus stop, watching all of the teachers arrive in their cars, and walk into the school gates. 

One car was blasting the Jesus Christ Superstar album, and somehow, Grantaire knew that was Mr Courfeyrac’s car. It was too late to hide, though, and Grantaire now had to deal with being questioned by Mr Courfeyrac, while Hosanna was playing in the background. 

“Grantaire!” Oh God, here we go. 

“Hi, sir.” He says, awkwardly holding his hand up.

“You’re early.” 

Grantaire keeps his hood pulled up, realising that it made his black eye just look like a shadow.

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t have anything better to do, I woke up too early.”

“Come inside with me, I’ll get you something warm to drink.” Mr Courfeyrac says, smiling at Grantaire, “You must be freezing.”

“I’d love to sir, but the gates are closed and I don’t fancy climbing over them.”

“Wait there, I’ll open them for you.” 

Grantaire does as he’s told, biting at his nail slightly. Soon enough, Mr Courfeyrac opens the gate for him, and pulls him into the school.   
“Where’s your blazer?”

“It’s ripped, my mum’s fixing it.” His eyes don’t meet Mr Courfeyrac’s. He doesn’t ask Grantaire anymore questions about it though, so that’s was enough for R.

“How was last night with Mr Laurent?”

“Boring, and confusing, and my brain still hurts.” He says, “But I have done more on my coursework, sort of. I don’t think it’s right, and it’s not like anyone can read it.”

“Teacher’s can read most kid’s handwriting, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Grantaire smiles slightly, and walks with Mr Courfeyrac to the art room. He sits down in his normal seat, seeing as that was his first lesson, anyway. It was in an hour and a half, but that’s not the point. 

“I saw your artwork.” Mr Courfeyrac says.

“What? The one that Jared ruined?”

“Yeah, it’s not ruined, I managed to fix it for you.”

Grantaire’s face lights up, “Seriously?” 

“Seriously.”

“You’re single-handedly the best teacher in this school.” 

Mr Courfeyrac chuckles, “You’ve got some real talent. Have you thought about what college you’re going to?”

“Yeah, I’m not going to college.”

“It’s compulsory, R, you have to go.”

“Not with my grades. They already kept me back a year. Not that that’s made much difference.”

“Grantaire, it was to split you from the group you were hanging around with, not because you were less intelligent.”

“There was nothing wrong with that group.” That was a lie. They would come to school, high on all sorts of drugs and alcohol, and they’d terrorise the younger students until they left the school. But Grantaire was in love with one of them so he stuck around with them, making sure they didn’t cause too much trouble. He never took any of the drugs, or participated in any of the bullying, and that’s why the teachers kept him back a year- to let that group move onto college without him, and forget all about him. 

Mr Courfeyrac was looking at him with a strange look on his face. He frowns, and turns away from him slightly. 

“Grantaire, where did you get that bruise from?” 

“What bruise?”

“Don’t act stupid, the one on your eye.” 

“Oh!” Grantaire says, touching it slightly, trying to act surprised, “I got in a fight with Montparnasse, it must have come from that.”

Grantaire knew Mr Courfeyrac wouldn’t believe him, but his teacher didn’t say anything, just gave him a look that R knew he would have to explain himself sooner or later. Just not today. 

The rest of the hour and a half was spent in comfortable silence, Grantaire trying to finish his art piece, and Mr Courfeyrac marking y9’s work. 

As soon as the rest of the class came in, Grantaire moved his canvas over slightly, so Jehan could sit next to him. The two talked quietly, not really paying attention to whatever was going on. Jehan didn’t ask about the bruise, Grantaire didn’t say anything. They’d both learn that it was for the best if nothing was said. 

At break time, Grantaire was surrounded by his friends, all of them talking about some new song that had come out, or something, he wasn’t really listening. When Cosette touched his arm slightly, he jumped. 

“Sorry,” He says immediately, “What’s up?”

“I was going to ask about that shiner.” She says and gestures to his eye. Grantaire chuckles slightly. Cosette was the newest member of the group, so he couldn’t get angry at her for asking but that didn’t mean he was going to tell her the truth either.

“I had a fight with Montparnasse after school.”

“I thought he moved to Manchester?”

“Oh yeah,” Grantaire says and shrugs, “I heard he went to Liverpool, so it looks like we’ll never know where he moved to.” He smiles at her. “Hey, Joly, fancy doing my biology homework?” He asks, turning away from Cosette. 

He had one more lesson before he had Enjolras for the rest of the day. Maths. That was never fun and Grantaire didn’t think he’d cope if he went to it. Especially not sitting with Isabelle. God, he hated that bitch.

As soon as the bell goes, Grantaire picks up his bag and walks off in the other direction to the maths corridor. He was going to skip it. He puts his hoodie back on, and walks to the back of the field, laying down.

He stares up at the sky, trying not to think of anything, like how his dad’s going to react if he finds out that Grantaire had that breakfast bar, or if anyone finally realises why he’s got a black eye, or what Enjolras is going to say to it. Out of everyone, Enjolras must have realised what happened. Is he blaming himself? Good. It is his fault. Why did he have to phone Grantaire’s dad? Everything was going so smoothly, until Enjolras decided to stick his foot in it. But it was Grantaire’s fault for being a fuck up in the first place, so technically, it was Grantaire’s fault. 

He gives it another five minutes before going to walk around school. He couldn’t lay there for longer without ending up feeling even more sorry for himself. He picks his bag up, wipes the grass off of himself and goes to walk down the english corridor, seeing if he could get a glimpse of Enjolras. 

That was the worst idea he could’ve had. As soon as he turns the corner, he spots Enjolras outside his classroom, sticking something on the door. Grantaire freezes for a second, before turning the other way. 

“I’ve already seen you, Grantaire.” Enjolras says and Grantaire turns back around, keeping his hood pulled up. “You should be in maths.”

“And you should be teaching english.”

“I’ve got a free lesson. Take your hoodie off, it’s not the school uniform.”

“No.” He says, raising his eyebrows. 

“Grantaire, if you don’t take it off, I’ll ring home.”

“That’s not a scary threat, you know?”

“Come inside and sit down.” 

Grantaire does so, leaning on the table, as he watches Enjolras open up the phone number tab and then type it into the school phone. He watches as it rings,swallowing slightly. 

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Grantaire’s father?”   
“Yes.”

“Ah, well, I have him here, and he’s going to explain to you why I’m having to call you up again.”

“I am?” Grantaire looks at Enjolras, frowning slightly. 

“You are.” Enjolras says, and presses the loudspeaker button. Grantaire’s hands shake as he holds the phone close to him.

“Hi, dad.” He says softly, half closing his eyes. 

“What’ve you done now?”

“I haven’t taken my hoodie off and I’m skipping maths, and then I haven’t brought my report card to school and mum gave me the last breakfast bar this morning.” The last two weren’t necessary, but it was probably better to get them out into the open so he only had to suffer once. He looks up at Enjolras, who was sitting on his chair, listening to their conversation.

Grantaire holds the phone away from his ear as his dad starts to cuss him out. He couldn’t end the phone call, though, he just sat there and took it because he knew better than to end a call on his dad or cut him off. He closes his eyes, waiting for it to finish. 

It stops abruptly, and Grantaire looks up to see Enjolras holding the phone in his hand. He opens his mouth to say something to R, but the bell goes before he has a chance to say it.

“Are you staying after school, Grantaire?”

Grantaire nods his head, jerkily. 

“Have you got your drama coursework?”

He nods his head again. 

“Good. We’ll talk about this then. Try and do your work.” 

Grantaire nods again, but his mind was already thinking about tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

“Grantaire, R, Taire…” He hears a voice far away from him but he couldn’t work out who it was. It sounded so comforting, but so sinister at the same time. He knew he was hyperventilating, and he could feel his nails dug into his hand, but he couldn’t stop thinking. He couldn’t stop his dad’s voice ringing through his ears with the promise that tonight was going to be bad. He’d barely made it to the end of the lesson, but he knew that there was only one person left in the classroom. 

“Grantaire!” He could feel someone’s hand on his cheek, and he looked up. “You’re going to be okay. Breathe in with me,” Enjolras was trying, and somehow that made R calm down the smallest bit. His nails were still digging in, and his breathing was still out of control, but the edges of his sight were no longer black. 

Grantaire starts to breathe in time with Enjolras, finally bringing his breathing back to normal after what felt like forever. Enjolras’ eyes were looking into his and his hands took hold of Grantaire’s, prising them apart. As soon as Grantaire realised what he was doing, he relaxed his hands. 

“I’m sorry.” Grantaire starts.

“Don’t be sorry, this isn’t your fault.”

“It is.” 

“No, Grantaire, it isn’t.” Enjolras says and keeps his hands on Grantaire’s. “I should’ve realised sooner.”

“Can I have my hands back, sir?” If his hands were kept there any longer, Grantaire would have no choice but to kiss him and he doesn’t want to kiss anyone in the state that he’s in. “And there’s nothing wrong. He just shouts a lot, that’s all.”

“So we’re still pretending that he didn’t give you the black eye?”

“He didn’t. I haven’t even told you who gave me the black eye. Why are you assuming it’s my dad?”

“I apologise.” Enjolras says simply, “Mr Courfeyrac had told me about it this morning, just as a heads up.”

“Oh, and I suppose he thinks it’s my dad too?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you’re implying. Look, I told Mr Courfeyrac who gave it to me. It was Montparnasse.”  
“He’s also moved to Manchester, so are you saying he caught the train up to here, just so he could fight you.”

“I thought he moved to Liverpool?” If it worked on Cosette, it should work on Enjolras. 

“It was Manchester. But that’s beside the point.”

Grantaire sighs, this was no use. He may as well tell the truth. 

“Okay, so what if it was my dad? It was a one off incident.”

“Grantaire, I know you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“I should call social services. They’ll be able to help you much more.”

“No!”

“But they can get you away from him, Grantaire. They can put you in a safe place and make sure you never see him again.”

“They’ll take me away from my mum too, though.” He turns away from Enjolras, wiping his eyes slightly.

“She’s compliant in this, Grantaire.”

“No, she isn’t. She has no clue what happens, so don’t even think about telling her. You’ve already made it worse.”

Enjolras looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Why do you think I ended up coming to school with a black eye? Just because he was bored?”

“No…?”

“No, exactly. You had to go and ring him up and tell him that I was on report. Everything was fine when he didn’t know. He was satisfied with leaving me be, I was doing very little wrong and I was fine because I was in my room. Out of sight, out of mind.”

“Grantaire-”

“I’m not finished. So shut up. And then you go and ring him again for something so small to us, but a very big issue for him. So what do you think is going to happen when I get home? Let’s just say, if I come to school tomorrow, it will be a miracle.”  
“I can’t let you go home to that, Grantaire. It goes against everything I stand for.”

“If I don’t go home, it’ll be worse, sir, so just drop it.”

Grantaire turns around to grab his bag but is stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He turns around, facing Enjolras again, looking up into those big blue eyes, filled with concern. He shakes Enjolras off, grabbing his bag again. 

“Grantaire, wait.” He stops at the door, waiting for Enjolras to keep speaking. “If you won’t let me help you, at least talk to one of these.”

He hands Grantaire a post-it note with phone numbers on. That was going straight in the bin. 

“Thanks.” He murmurs, opening the door. 

“If you’re not in class tomorrow, Grantaire, I will phone social services.” It was a kindness disguised as a threat, and Grantaire understood. 

“I know you will, sir.” He smiles slightly, giving Enjolras a little salute, as he turns around to walk out of the school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one today, lads.


	6. Chapter 6

Grantaire didn’t turn up to school. He didn’t for the rest of the week. 

He was fine. The bruises were healing fine, and he was able to stay in his room for the most part, only sneaking downstairs to grab some food once his dad was at work. The threat of social services coming wasn’t as big as Grantaire thought it was going to be. In fact, the idea of seeing Enjolras was more scary. 

He could lie to the social workers, tell them that he got into a fight and that his dad was a loving dad, who wouldn’t ever do such a thing. He could tell them that he had food poisoning the day before, and his appetite hadn’t come back just yet. He could tell them that Enjolras was a liar, and wanted to make himself look good, so he told them a lie about Grantaire’s home life. After all, it wasn’t like they could prove any different, and Grantaire was a good liar. He was practised in the skill of lying to social services, so this shouldn’t be any different. 

It was Friday, when he decided to check his school email- a task that he never did. It was full of homework templates and teachers asking their students to fill out their surveys to prove that they are actually good teachers. He went through and deleted all of them; he didn’t care about them. Any of them, to be honest, apart from the top one, from Mr Laurent. 

This is what he’d been expecting. 

‘Grantaire, 

I know you’re probably not going to read this but I want you to know that there is a lot of work you’re going to have to catch up on. It’s about the annotations of Chapter 2 of A Christmas Carol. I hope you’re okay, and that you do come back to school soon. Have you rang any of the numbers? They’re there for you, as well as the teachers in school, you don’t have to go through this alone. I haven’t rang SS but if you ever want me to, just email me and I’ll do it immediately. 

Thanks, Mr Laurent.’

Grantaire scoffs slightly and shakes his head. Of course Enjolras had to give him the whole speech that he’d heard so many times before from Joly and Bossuet and Bahorel and Eponine and Jehan and Feuilly, the list goes on. Still, he should probably go and show to Enjolras that he is, indeed, alive and well, minus a few marks. 

He checks the time- 2:15. Half an hour until school is out, and Enjolras will probably stay behind for a while anyway. He goes to the pile of ironing and pulls out a t-shirt that didn’t smell too bad. The whole house smells of mould so Grantaire couldn’t work out if it was the clothes or the house. He doesn’t bother ironing it, seeing no point of ironing things in the first place. It’ll just get creased again anyway. He grabs a pair of his trousers and a belt, tucking his shirt in as well. He grabs a hoodie and puts that on as well even if it was 29 degrees outside. It’d cause Enjolras to worry less. 

As soon as he gets on the bus,he starts to realise that this may not be such a good idea after all. His face felt worse than what it did on Wednesday, and he knew his lip had been cut. But, the bus was pulling up to school now, and Grantaire couldn’t go back now. 

He sneaks through the crowd of students leaving the building, and walks down the art corridor first, stopping at Mr Courfeyrac’s room first. He walks in, not bothering to knock. What he wasn’t expecting was to see his science teacher kissing Mr Courfeyrac against his deck.

“I would say get a room, but that wouldn’t work.” He says, laughing slightly.

Mr Combeferre pulls away from Mr Courfeyrac, allowing him to say. “You’re supposed to knock, Grantaire.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realise science teachers were actually allowed out of the science department.”

“They made a special case for me.” Mr Combeferre says, stepping away from the art teacher.

“Understandable. Can I speak to Mr Courfeyrac alone? Or should I come back later?”

“No, you can speak to me now. But then you’ve got to go and see Mr Laurent.”

“Why?” Grantaire groans, trying to act like he wasn’t going to do that anyway. 

“He’s worried sick about you, and he won’t tell us why.”

“Yeah, okay, deal.” He says, and waits until Mr Combeferre had left the room. “What’ve I missed?”

“You’ve got a new assignment.” Mr Courfeyrac says, reaching to grab a slip of paper for Grantaire. “You’ve got to create a piece of artwork about light and dark.”

“That’s really vague.”

“The exam board’s vague.” 

Grantaire sighs and looks at him. “You know what I’m going to ask, don’t you?”

“Yeah, the canvases are over there. How are you going to colour it?”

“Acrylic.” R says, going to grab a medium sized canvas from the pile.

“Bottom drawer on the left.” He takes a pack of the acrylic, and smiles at Mr Courfeyrac. 

“Thanks, sir.”  
“You’re welcome. Ruin those acrylic paints though, and I’ll not help you with the written part of your artwork.”

Grantaire nods, and walks out of the room, putting the pack of acrylics into his pocket. Ideas were buzzing round his head, but he thinks he knows what he’s going to do. He tucks the canvas under his arm. Luckily, it wasn’t so big that it would knock people out if he turned too fast. 

He stops outside Enjolras’ room, going to open it up, but then remembers what happened at Mr Courfeyrac’s room. He doesn’t want a repeat of that, especially not with Enjolras. That would break his heart even more.

“Come in.” Enjolras says after Grantaire knocks. He opens the door, stepping into the classroom. Enjolras’ face lights up, and Grantaire is so going to draw that when he gets home.

“Just thought I’d tell you that I’m not dead.” Grantaire says, smiling at Enjolras slightly. As he stands up, Grantaire can see him trying to straighten himself up. 

“You’re going to wish you were, with how much you’ve got to catch up on.”

“How much do I have to pay you to not set me anything?” Grantaire asks, putting the canvas on the table. 

“How much do you have?” Enjolras asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Uh, 50p and a bus ticket for the 137.” 

“That’s useless. Looks like you’re going to have to do the work.” Enjolras says, stopping a couple of inches away from Grantaire. 

Well, here goes nothing. 

“What about if I do this?” Grantaire leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss onto Enjolras’ lips, hoping and praying that Enjolras does the same thing. Kissing Enjolras was not on the plan for today, but it’s happening now. Grantaire doesn’t stop kissing him, until Enjolras’ hands are on his shoulders, pushing him away. 

“Grantaire, you- we- I can’t do this.” Enjolras says steadily, keeping his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders. 

“Why not? We’re both over the age of consent.”

“You’re barely 16!”

“17.” Grantaire corrects, looking at him.  
“What?”

“17. I got kept back a year. Has Mr Courfeyrac not told you?”

“That’s not the point. I’m in a position of trust over you. I’m in loco parentis while you’re in school.”

Grantaire raises his eyebrows slightly, “You can’t be much older than me, you look like you’re 15.”

“I’m 20, Grantaire.”

“See? 3 years, that’s a normal age difference. I’m assuming you skipped a few grades, and you’re not just lying to me about being 20.”

Enjolras turns around, and Grantaire knows he’s failed.

“How’s your dad?” Enjolras cuts through the deafening silence, eventually. 

“Better. He’s been at work for the most time.” Grantaire starts to make his way to the door. 

“How’s your eye?”

“Sore but it’s normal. Not normal, fine.” He corrects. 

“Are you going to be in class on Monday?” Enjolras still hadn’t turned around. 

“Probably.”

“I want you to finish annotating Chapter 2 by then.”

“Okay.” He steps out of the door, canvas under his arm and feet dragging along the floor. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras calls out, and Grantaire stops in his tracks. 

“Yeah?”

“I still expect you at the end of the day with the drama coursework.” 

“Okay.”

But Grantaire had no intention of ever turning up to Enjolras’ classes ever again. He’d just skip them, like he did with every other class he wasn’t wanted in. He walks outside of the school and to the bus stop with nothing but thoughts of Enjolras and his parents in his head. He was a failure to all of them, so why not just stay out of their way from now on?


	7. Chapter 7

As soon as the bus pulled up to the street, Grantaire knew this was a bad idea. They’d probably forgotten all about him and moved onto another poor guy in college. But Grantaire needed to see them, he needed reassuring that he was worth it, and that he wasn’t just a big fuck up. 

He knocks on the door twice, stepping back slightly, hoping that someone was in. He looks in the window, covered in grime, at the kitchen with the flickering light. He’d missed this place. 

“Grantaire?” A familiar voice calls out, and R’s attention goes back to the door.

He smiles slightly, “Hiya.”

“I thought you were dead.” A hand pulls him into the hallway, and pushes him against the wall. His mouth becomes occupied with their tongue and their lips. Grantaire had missed this, the ease of it all. His hands rest against their waist, as he pulls away from them. 

“Unfortunately not.” He says and lets them drag him into the living room, where the rest of his old friends were. 

They do the awkward greetings and the awkward questions about where he’s been the last year. 

“So, you’re telling me that they kept you back a year just because you hung around with us?” 

“Yeah, under the pretence that I was just really thick.” 

“That’s because you are.” 

Grantaire laughs and rests his head against the one who had kissed him. 

“Hey, how’s your dad, anyway?”

“Still a prick.” He really didn’t want to talk about his family anymore. Instead, he takes their packet of cigarettes, and goes into the kitchen to smoke one. 

“Where’s your mum?” He leans in the doorway of the kitchen, looking at the rest of them. They all looked the same- black hair in a skin fade, adidas trainers, thinking they run the streets. Grantaire was always the odd one of them. His hair was never cut or shaved, unless it got too long, then the kitchen scissors would sort that out; he couldn’t afford adidas anything, so he had to make do with the trainers they sold at Primark; and Grantaire knew that he was just a tag-a-long, only there because his boyfriend was part of the gang. Well, not his boyfriend anymore. 

“Oliver, sort your boy out.” One of them says to Grantaire’s maybe boyfriend, “Next thing you know, he’ll be my step dad.”

R rolls his eyes, and chuckles slightly. “I was just wondering why you had the house to yourself, she’s usually home by now.”

“Yeah, she’s currently in London, sorting out some shit with her job. You know, you can smoke in here, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I like smoking in here.”

“You’re strange.” 

Grantaire smiles slightly, his eyes constantly darting to Oliver, who seemed to have his eyes on R constantly. He winks at Oliver as he comes back to the living room, and sits on his lap, leaning back against his chest. Oliver kisses his neck gently, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s waist.

“Have you heard anything from Montparnasse?” R knew they still blamed him for what happened to Montparnasse. 

“No, but they have a new English teacher.” He says, mind flashing images of Enjolras. He quickly shakes any sort of thought of him away. It was a useless crush, and why should he even try to pursue it, when he has someone who likes him right here? “His name’s Mr Laurent, and he’s even worse than the old one.”

The rest of the evening passes quickly, R pressed against Oliver’s chest, talking to the rest of them. As the evening turns into night, Grantaire has no intention of returning home until tomorrow. 

They all leave, until it’s just Oliver, R, and the person whose house this is. Grantaire sits up slightly, going to stand up to get a drink, but Oliver tightens his grip against him. 

“Don’t leave.” He pouts teasingly, “I’m staying the night, you should too.”

“Let me get a drink, and I’ll think about it.” Although, Grantaire knew he was staying. 

Oliver lets go of him, and Grantaire goes to the fridge and gets 2 cans of beer. 

He hands one to his other friend, and opens the other one up, taking a sip, then gives it to Oliver. 

“Are we sleeping on the couch then?” He asks, laying down on the sofa, and resting his head on Oliver’s lap. 

He nods in response, handing the beer back to Grantaire. They continued like this until 2am, after their friend had gone to bed. Grantaire shuffles up, so Oliver can lay beside him. Grantaire buries his head into his chest, breathing softly. It felt nice to have someone’s arms wrapped around him that weren’t trying to hurt him. 

“I missed you.” He murmurs, not moving his head from Oliiver’s chest. 

“I missed you too. Now, shush, I’m tired.” Grantaire smiles slightly and does just that, falling asleep in his arms. 

In the morning, Grantaire wakes up to Oliver stroking his hair gently. That was a change, but Grantaire wasn’t complaining. 

“Who’s Enjolras?” He asks Grantaire, pulling his hair slightly, teasing Grantaire. 

“What?”

“Enjolras. You talked about him in your sleep.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says and closes his eyes for a second, thinking of a lie that wouldn’t make Oliver mad. His hair is pulled again, slightly firmer this time. “He’s a friend from school, sort of. He’s annoying.”

“He didn’t sound annoying.”

“Awwh, you getting jealous?” R teases, squeezing Oliver’s hand. “Don’t stress, he’s a nobody.” 

Oliver chuckles and hums, closing his eyes again. “Your phone’s been ringing since 8.”

“What time is it now?”

“10.” 

Grantaire pulls out his phone, wincing at the brightness. 

‘4 missed calls from mum

2 missed calls from dad. 

Grantaire, come home as soon as you get this.- Dad

R, please, we’re worried about you, come home- Mum’

“Shit.” He says and stands up, groaning slightly. Oliver looks up at him, smiling slightly. 

“Give me your phone.” Reluctantly, R hands it over. Oliver types in his number and hands it back to Grantaire, tapping his leg reassuringly. When Grantaire was separated from them the first time, he had been forced to block their numbers and get a new phone number. 

“Why didn’t you answer them?” Grantaire asks, as he ties his shoelace. 

“Your parents don’t like me. You should probably go, text me when you get home.”

"Might be a couple hours after."

"I know, tell me what he does to you."

"As always. Why are you so interested in what he does to me anyway?"

"So when I kill him, I have a motive. Now, go or else it'll be worse."

Grantaire walks out the door, to the bus station, and back home to face his parents.


	8. Chapter 8

It was now the following Friday, and Grantaire felt so much better. His life had gone back to the old ways, with some new additions that seemed to work. He’d go to Oliver’s after school, they’d do couple stuff, Oliver’s friends would come, they’d do borderline illegal stuff, Grantaire would go home, his dad would slap him around, he’d go to his room and text Oliver, then go to sleep, wake up, go to school. The cycle continued, and Grantaire felt so much more happier than before. 

Enjolras was off his back, partly because he never turned up to any of his lessons anymore, instead spent the whole time in the toilets, talking to Oliver. The only lesson Grantaire actually went to and paid attention to was art. Mr Courfeyrac had begun to get stricter with him, and no longer let him spend the lesson talking to Jehan. Grantaire didn’t mind though, he didn’t need to be friends with that lot anymore, he’d found his way back into his old crowd. His artwork was coming along nicely, though, and all he had to do was touch up some parts on the blond head of hair, then he can move onto the wings, and the lips. Mr Courfeyrac didn’t really approve of the piece, claiming it to resemble Mr Laurent too much. Grantaire told him that that was stupid, and continued to keep painting Enj- the angel.

Art was Grantaire’s penultimate lesson on a Friday, and he was happily tucked away in the corner of the classroom, unbothered by the rest of the students. He had his earphones in, so he wasn’t aware that he was being called, until the paintbrush was taken out of his hand and Mr Courfeyrac was looming over him. 

Grantaire removes one earbud, and looks up at him. 

“Mr Laurent wants to see you.” He says, raising an eyebrow, “Perhaps it’s something to do with your artwork.”

“How has he seen it?” Grantaire asks, smiling slightly. He wipes his paint-stained hands on his trousers, and looks up to see Enjolras waiting for him. He takes out both earphones, and tries to straighten his blazer out, before walking to the door. 

“I expect him back in 10 minutes.” Mr Courfeyrac says firmly, but Grantaire noticed the small grin on his face.

“You will do, sir, don’t worry.” Enjolras replies, and starts to walk down the corridor to the English department’s staff room. Grantaire follows behind him, trying to scrape as much paint as possible from his hands before he gets to the room. 

Enjolras holds the door open for him, and Grantaire walks in, looking around. It was a lot… cleaner than what Grantaire was expecting. 

“It’s nice in here. Almost nice enough to make me want to become an english teacher.”

“Sit down, Grantaire.” Enjolras says, locking the door so they wouldn’t be disturbed.

“What’ve I done?”

“It’s more a case of what haven’t you done?” Enjolras sits opposite him, “Grantaire, you haven’t turned up to my lesson in a week, you’re so far behind.”

“And?” Grantaire frowns, looking at him.

“You went from being one of my best students,” Grantaire snorts, that was a lie. “To not even bothering to show up.”

“Look, we both know that I’m not going to get better than a D (3), so why are you bothering?”

“You were averaging at a C (5), Grantaire, you’re good at this.”

“Well, either way, I still don’t know why you care so much. You’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t like me.” 

“Is- is this about last Friday?” Enjolras asks, furrowing his eyebrows. “Because, Grantaire, I’m your teacher, it would be classed as statutory rape.” He says quietly, eyes locking with Grantaire’s.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Grantaire shrugs, smiling at Enjolras. “You’re a nobody now. I was just confused, trying to find a way to get over my ex. But it’s cool, we’re back together. You’ve gone back to the ranks of being the same as the last english teacher.”

Grantaire could read what Enjolras was thinking. He went from being hurt (eyes looking down, corners of mouth dropping), to being confused (eyebrows together, eyes squinting, mouth in a straight line), to realisation hitting him (eyes bright, mouth open, arms crossed.)

“You mean the one who came to school high all of the time?” Enjolras asks, looking concerned more than anything. “Who used to drag you along while they terrorised all of the younger children?” 

“How do you know all of this stuff?”

“Mr Courfeyrac told me about the situation, and why you were kept back.”

“Oh, and I suppose he told you that Oliver tried to kill me, as well, did he? Because it wasn’t like that. He was high, he was just being rough, it was a mistake. I’d dealt with worse off of my dad.”

“I know, I know.” Enjolras says, and holds his hands up in defeat. “Look, I know you won’t listen to me, since I’m a nobody and just the same as your old teacher, but-” He takes a breath, looking at Grantaire, eyes full of concern, “Just be careful. I’d rather you not turn up to my lessons out of choice, then you not turn up to my lessons because you're dead.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes, and stands up, “He’s not going to kill me.”

Enjolras unlocks the door, but grabs Grantaire’s wrist before he walks off. 

“I’m always there if you need me, okay? So’s Mr Courfeyrac.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Leave off of it.” Grantaire says and pulls away from him. 

As he walks down the corridor, he realises that there was no way he was over Enjolras. It was the way he carried himself, and the way he didn’t talk down to Grantaire. It was his voice, and his eyes. R touches his wrist softly, looking where Enjolras had grabbed him. Grantaire shakes it off, eventually he’ll forget about Enjolras. Oliver’s there for him, not Enjolras, and he loves Oliver- he just needed reminding.


	9. Chapter 9

It was now November, and the weather was changing from the cool months, where you could just about get away with not wearing a coat, to a bitter wind constantly being there, and it raining everyday. 

For Grantaire, this was usually the worst season for him, his coat was too small for him (it was the one he’d had since Year 7) and it meant that all of his friends would be getting presents for each other and from their families, whereas Grantaire would be lucky to escape his parents, and spend the day in his room, minus Christmas Dinner. 

In the October half term, he’d spent the week at Oliver’s, where the heating worked, and Grantaire could borrow his coat. They went out on Halloween to the nearest park and got pissed on cheap wine; it was Oliver’s birthday the next day, and they were celebrating with the others, but Oliver wanted it to be special with just them two. Grantaire wasn’t complaining, not even when Oliver’s nails dug in too tight around his wrist to pull him closer. 

Grantaire had fallen back into old habits: not turning up for lessons (unless it was art), talking back to teachers, distancing himself from Cosette and Jehan’s group, turning up still hungover. It felt good though. It’s not like his reputation was going to be anymore ruined and the fuzz around his brain left from the alcohol the previous night made him just not give a shit anymore. 

It was a Thursday when Grantaire made the mistake of going down the English corridor. For the whole of this term, Grantaire had managed to avoid Enjolras. Not that he still had feelings for him, that had completely died. The blond curls no longer had an effect on him, they were just there. 

As he walked down the corridor, Enjolras was walking the opposite way. Grantaire wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing; Oliver was telling him something and his phone was pressed to his ear. And they collided. Grantaire frowns. 

“Watch where you’re going.” He says, trying to act hard, ignoring the way his heart was thumping. 

“That was your fault, Grantaire.” Enjolras says, opening up the door to his classroom. “And you know that phones aren’t permitted during school hours.”

“Whatever.” R says, and goes back to paying attention to Oliver. “You were saying…?”

The rest of the day passed smoothly, Grantaire told his mum that he was staying at Eponine’s for tea, and got on the bus to Oliver’s, where he ended up staying the night again. 

The next day, he steals Oliver’s coat and goes to school before Oliver wakes up. If Grantaire woke him up, he didn’t think he’d be let out of bed. 

He feels around the pockets, until he feels the packet of cigarettes. He lights one up, and waits for the bus, trying not to think about art. He’d ended up so far behind on the coursework because he’d spent a month trying to perfect the angels lips. There was just something wrong about them- they weren’t even, and then they weren’t the right colour, then they weren’t highlighted in the right place. Mr Courfeyrac had told him to move on, but Grantaire couldn’t. They weren’t right. And everyone had moved onto the written part but Grantaire still had to finish the art piece. He couldn’t take it home, or to Oliver’s- especially not to Oliver’s. Apparently Grantaire said Enjolras’ name a lot in his sleep. 

He goes into the classroom, shivering slightly. It was freezing, and Grantaire had been forced to take off his coat when he got to the school gates. 

“Where’s your blazer, R?” Mr Courfeyrac asks, pulling Grantaire to the side

“I left it at home.” 

“You’ve done that for a week now, please try to remember it on Monday.”

“Will do.” He says, and takes his canvas from where it was placed.

“How far away are you from being finished with the piece?”

“Uh, give me another week.”

“Can you come back after school so we can work on your written work?”

“I can next week, I’ve got a family meal tonight, and I can’t get away from that.”

Mr Courfeyrac gives him that look, where Grantaire knows that he doesn’t believe him, but oh well, he can’t interfere. 

“I heard you’re back with Oliver.”

“Mr Combeferre told me it was illegal for teachers to talk about students.”

Mr Courfeyrac snorts. “He was joking. But seriously, how’s it going between you two?”

“Fine.”

“So the bruises on your wrist aren’t from him, right?” 

“Uh,” Grantaire looks down. Most of them were from him, but some were from his dad, so he could lie. “No. Well, yes, but we were play-fighting, he just grabbed me too hard. He let go as soon as he realised.”

“Sure he did.” Mr Courfeyrac crosses his arms. 

“He did. What is it with teachers and not believing me these past few months? First Mr Laurent, now you.”

“We’re just worried about you, R.”

“Save the speeches, I’ve already had it once off of Mr Laurent.”

“Okay, okay.” Mr Courfeyrac holds his hands up in surrender. “But if you do need anything, we’re here-”

“For me. I know, sir, but don’t worry, I’m fine.” 

Grantaire turns away from Mr Courfeyrac, to pick up his paintbrush again, and starts painting Enjolras’ wings. They were supposed to be a golden colour, but the paint came out looking brown and black. Grantaire was rolling with it though, it kind of suited the body of the angel. 

As he was painting, Grantaire started thinking. Why was everyone so concerned about him and his relationships. It’s what he deserves, Oliver’s the kindest anyone’s been to him, and even when he gets rough with Grantaire, it’s still better than when his dad starts. He rubs the back of his head, where Oliver had pulled his hair last night. It wasn’t bad, if it was his dad, the hair wouldn’t be there. Oliver’s kind to him.


	10. Chapter 10

By late January, Grantaire had almost stopped going to school completely. He only went back to his house every other day, and managed to avoid his dad. His mum was disappointed in him, but Grantaire couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. Oliver and him were still going strong. They’d only fought once, and that was enough to make sure Grantaire never fought with him again. 

It was a Tuesday when Grantaire’s head of year spotted him walking around in the corridor. He’d just had a smoke, and probably stunk of alcohol from the night before so he knew he was condemned before she’d grabbed him by the arm. Somehow, she knew that he was supposed to be in English.

Grantaire had managed to skip English since November, so to break that now was kind of sad for Grantaire. He tries to break free from her, but she had a very hard grip on him, and by the time he got free, he was at Enjolras’ door and Enjolras was opening it up. 

Grantaire sighs and sits down in his seat, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms. He’s not going to be doing any work today. 

“Ah, Grantaire, it’s nice to finally see you again. It feels like years.” Enjolras says, using his ‘im addressing the whole class just to embarrass you’ voice.

Grantaire glares at him, “Why? Have you missed me that much, sir?” He says, smirking slightly, “Because I haven’t missed you.”

“Nonsense. Do you have a pen?”

“Do I ever?”

Enjolras picks up a pen from his desk and hands it to Grantaire. It was just a plain biro, and Grantaire understood. Whatever was going on between them was over now. It was over when Grantaire told him he was back with Oliver. It was over when Grantaire tried to kiss him. 

As soon as the lesson was over, Grantaire almost out of the door, when his name was called. 

“What do you want?” He asks, turning back to face Enjolras. 

“I saw your wrist.”

“What’s wrong with my wrist?” He says and pushes his sleeve up. Okay, so maybe it was slightly bruised, but that was normal for Grantaire. 

“It’s practically broken, Grantaire.” Enjolras says, touching it slightly. Grantaire flinches and pulls it back. 

“It’s fine.” He says, “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I’m still your teacher, even if you never show up to lessons.”

“It’s nothing.” Grantaire says but the look on Enjolras’ face forces him to explain further. “It was Oliver, we were play-fighting, he tackled me onto the ground and grabbed my wrist too hard. He let go as soon as he saw I was in pain. We went to the hospital, it’s not broken.” 

The last part was a lie. His mum had dragged him to the hospital when he came home the next day, but his wrist wasn’t broken. Grantaire watches as Enjolras almost loses his control over his rage.

“That’s not normal, Grantaire.” 

“Yes, it is? We were just messing.”

“How old is Oliver?”

“18.” Grantaire tilts his head. 

“I take it the marks on your neck are from him too?”

“Don’t make me describe my sex life to you, sir.”

“They’re not hickies.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m 20 years old, Grantaire, how do you think I know?”

Grantaire shuts up at that point. He asked for that one. 

“Are they fingerprints?”

Grantaire hesitates, finally saying, “Yeah.” softly, tilting his head so Enjolras could look at them properly. He feels Enjolras’ hand trace over them delicately, and Grantaire almost lets himself lean into the touch, but he doesn’t. He has a boyfriend who touches him in the same way, he doesn’t need Oliver. 

“Where does he live?” Enjolras’ voice cuts through his voice. 

Grantaire squints his eyes slightly, “I’m not telling you that.”

“Is he in the same house that he lived in when he came to school?”

“Yeah.” Grantaire says before shaking his head, “I mean, no. But, yeah.” He adds on the end softly.

“Right, okay. Are you going to be with him tonight?”

“Probably.”

“Don’t be. Go home, Grantaire.”

“What are you going to do?”

“It doesn’t matter what I’m going to do.” Enjolras says and holds the door open for him. 

At the end of the day, Grantaire does the complete opposite of what Enjolras says and goes to stay with Oliver for the night. He gets the bus and lets himself in, walking to the kitchen where Oliver was. He wraps his arms around his waist and presses a small kiss onto his shoulder blade. 

“You’re needy today.” Oliver says, turning round to give him a proper hug. 

“Had a shit day. I got dragged into Engllish.”

“That’s really tragic.” Oliver chuckles and kisses Grantaire softly. “Fancy getting a pizza for tea?”

“Yeah, I do.” It was easy enough to realise that Oliver hadn’t smoked anything or drank anything just yet. He was always happier when he hadn’t.

“I’m feeling nice, so you can order anything you want.”

“Like I do anyway?” He asks, already enjoying this version of him. He lets go of Oliver and goes to sit down at the table, when he spots a familiar head of hair passing the window. 

“How the fuck did he get here so quickly?” Grantaire asks, frowning. 

“Who?” Oliver asks, grabbing Grantaire by the arm. Somehow, R knew Nice Oliver wouldn’t last long.

“Enjo- Mr Laurent.” 

“They’re the same person?” Oliver asks, fingers digging further into Grantaire’s bicep. 

“...No.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” He says and pulls Grantaire with him to the door, where Enjolras was just about to knock. “How does he know that I live here, Grantaire? How does he know about me?”

“He was asking questions, he wouldn’t stop, I can’t- he wouldn’t-” Grantaire was sobbing by now, scared to even try and figure out a way out of this. Oliver’s nails were almost breaking his skin.

Oliver lets go of him, “Get your stuff and get out. I’ll deal with him.” He says, and Grantaire goes into the kitchen, grabbing his bag and coat.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers to Oliver. 

“Don’t. This is the last time I’ll see you. When you get home, delete my number. Delete their numbers as well.”

Grantaire nods and waits until Oliver has opened the door, before sneaking out and around the corner. He waits, watching Enjolras enter the apartment. It takes two swings off of Enjolras for Oliver to get the message. But Grantaire was already down the street and walking home by the time Enjolras had left the apartment. It was too risky to get the bus, and Grantaire needed to clear his head. 

He walks down the sidewalk to his house, before taking his phone out, and shakily pressing the block number on each of their phone numbers, leaving Oliver’s until last. He looks through their old messages one last time, before blocking his number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only five more chapters to go!!!


End file.
